chRONicles: American Dream
by Samurai Crunchbird
Summary: This fifth 'ch.RON.icle' follows Ron as a cooking prodigy, competing in 'The 100th Agri-Con American Bake-Off' and creating a dish which becomes synonymous with his own legend. ...Complete...
1. Operation: Paris

_**My standard KP disclaimer:**_

I know Disney owns "Kim Possible"...lock, stock, and Rufus.

If they want to sue me, they have to get behind all my other creditors.

Since I am in south Florida, the line has formed to the right

…and goes all the way to Sacramento!

_If a name has an ®, I own it. If it doesn't, I don't!_

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_**Opening notes:**_

**1)** Well, folks…this is the fifth story in the _'ch-__**RON**__-icles' _group of stories. Originally, I was going to try keeping each story independent of one another. However, one or two elements from other tales in the _'ch-__**RON**__-icles'_ group may come into play here. As the group has progressed, I am still not ready to call this an 'arc' yet; but I have been seeing different ways to tie some of them together.

**2)** '**America's Second Harvest' is the largest 'food bank' network in the country. ****They distribute food to over 25 MILLION hungry Americans, ****including 9 MILLION children, each year.**

**I released this tale a few days early to add awareness for the ****National Association of Letter Carriers' annual **'**Stamp Out Hunger' Food Drive on Saturday, May 10****th****.**

**For those readers in the United States, ****please support this worthwhile organization ****with donations to your local food bank ****OR by placing non-perishable food in a tied plastic or cloth bag ****and placing it near your mailboxes ****for collection on the morning of May 10****th****.**

**For readers in other countries, ****please locate a local charitable food pantry near you ****and make a contribution.**

_**In this land where so much food is produced, -**__**NOBODY-**__** should go to bed hungry!!**_

**Thank you.**

**3)** A fake phone number will be displayed somewhat early in this chapter. However, real 855 numbers may be released (according to the FCC) within the next ten years. They will work just like current 800, 888, 877, and 866 toll-free numbers. For now, let's just sit back and…

**Enjoy the show!**

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_'ch-**RON**-icles:** American Dream**'_

**_Chapter One: Operation Paris_**

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…_For Marla Kildow…_

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It's amazing what children visualize in their dreams…

…Some see themselves emulating their favorite heroes by beating up bad guys and saving the world…

…Others cower in fear of monsters from movies their parents warned them not to watch just before bedtime…

…But visions of seasoned ground beef, melted cheese, and crunchy chips constantly danced through the dreams of one twelve-year-old boy in particular…

…_**Ron Stoppable.**_

Ever since his eleventh birthday, and the tragic events it entailed, Ron knew he had to carry out the inspiration of his late Uncle David.

He remembered the last conversation he had with the man. It was, like most of their other talks, centered around food…rich, glorious, decadent food. After all, Ron was aspiring to be a 'master chef', while David was a renowned food critic for the _Omaha World-Herald_. Anyone within earshot of the two would have their mouths watering within seconds of hearing most of these debates.

Maybe that discussion was a dream…maybe it was a 'calling from heaven'. No matter what Ron considered it, David was showing his appreciation for his nephew's ability to deliver his final message to his wife, Sarah…

_**Once Anne escorted Kim out of the room, the only sound in the room was generated by the beeps and whirs of the machines monitoring Ron's recovery.**_

_**Suddenly, a white circle appeared in the ceiling. It was there just long enough for David to peek through and smile.**_

"_**Thanks again, 'Little Man'," he said. "I owe you one."**_

"_**Hey," Ron instantly replied, "I'm alive. That kinda makes us even, right?"**_

"_**Yeah," David admitted, "I guess it does. Just remember that recipe we talked about on the bike ride, okay?"**_

"_**You mean for that…taco and nacho combination platter?"**_

"_**That's the one. Back at the Bueno Nacho in Omaha, I didn't see that on the menu board. It might just work in Middleton."**_

"_**Maybe you're right, but…Hey! I just thought of something. What if they put the nacho chips and cheese into the soft-shell taco?"**_

"_**Nachos inside a taco? You mean…like some kind of 'Naco' or something?"**_

"_**Yeah. You're the restaurant critic…or you were. What do you think?"**_

"_**What do I think? That is downright genius!! A guy with your cooking talent could make **__**millions**__** off that…especially if you find a way to sell it worldwide."**_

_**Ron waved and grinned, "Thanks, Uncle Dave. I'll miss you."**_

_**David smirked, "I'll miss you, too, 'Little Man'!" With that, the circle disappeared.**_

_**As his eyes succumbed to darkness once again, Ron smiled and murmured, "A-boo-yeah!" **_

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…One Thursday afternoon, Ron brought in the mail right after he got off the school bus. He took note of one item in particular. It was the October edition of school newsletter, _M Cubed: The Middleton Middle Monthly_. Since it was addressed to 'The Stoppable Family', he felt it was every bit within his rights to break the seal and read it before his parents got home.

As he perused one particular article, his eyes froze on its words. He could have sworn he heard a chorus of angels as he read the details…

_The Middleton Civic Center is proud to host the Rocky Mountains regional for this year's Agri-Con® American Bake-Off® on Saturday, October 13__th__. Entries will be accepted in all four categories: 'Main Dish', 'Appetizer', 'Bread', and 'Dessert'._

_In addition, two new categories are introduced for this year's competition. The 'Senior' category is open to contestants over age 65. The 'Junior' category is open to contestants ages 10-17, with parental supervision_

_Doors will open to the public at 9:30am. The 'Senior' and 'Junior' competitions begin at 10:00am. The 'General' competition will begin at 2:00pm. Tickets are 10 dollars each for the morning session, 20 dollars for the afternoon session, and 25 dollars for an 'all-day' pass. **All proceeds benefit America's Second Harvest and its local partner, Food Bank of the Rockies.**_

_Regional first-place winners in each 'General' category will receive 5,000 dollars each, with second-place winners taking home 2,000 dollars each. Regional first-place 'Senior' and 'Junior' winners receiving 3,000 dollars each, with second-place winners earning 1,000 dollars each. All regional first and second place winners advance to next month's Agri-Con® American Bake-Off® in Omaha. The Grand Prize winner in each 'General' category there will receive 1,000,000 dollars, with 'Senior' and 'Junior' national winners each receiving 500,000 dollars. All prizes will be furnished by the event's corporate partners; Agri-Con®, Toys 'B' Us®, PlasticMaid®, Samurai Cutlery®, Neverstick®, Flashpoint®, and Smarty Mart._

_All contestants must 'pre-register' by phone by 6pm on Friday, October 12__th__. To 'pre-register', call 1-855-BAKE-OFF (1-855-225-3633). 'Pre-registered' contestants in the 'Senior' and 'Junior' categories are allowed access to the Civic Center at 8:30 on the 13__th__, to allow for placement of ingredients. All appliances, equipment, flatware, plates, glasses, and cookware will be provided._

_A written copy of all recipes must be submitted by 'pre-registered' contestants, or parents/guardians for the 'Junior' category, no later than 9:00am on the 13__th__, regardless of category._

_A complete set of rules can be obtained at the Agri-Con® website, the Middleton Civic Center box office, or here at the school office._

_**To all participating students and families, we at Middleton Middle wish you the best of luck!**_

Ron quickly glanced at the calendar…Thursday, October 11th. He knew he had to act fast if he was going to convince his parents to let him enter the contest.

While his mother was hesitant about allowing Ron to compete in sports, she was completely supportive of his cooking endeavors and experiments. In this field, it was his father who took exception to competitions. Donald Stoppable felt his son should begin down the path of following in his own footsteps as an actuary. Sure, Ron's grades were not yet up to snuff, but Don had faith they would improve in high school and college.

Ron knew he had to pull out all the stops. He looked at the clock and noticed it was 3:25. Thankfully, he knew his parents did not usually come home from work until approximately 6:30 or so. That's when Ron's fingers did some walking, or at least hit speed-dial, to call a very familiar number.

"Hello," replied the sweet voice on the other end of the line, "Possible residence."

"Mrs. Dr. P.?" He inquired. "It's Ron. No, I don't need to talk to Kim this time. I actually need _your_ help with something. Could I get a lift to King Food…and _maybe_ borrow a few bucks until I get my allowance? Thanks, Mrs. Dr. P…You're the _**best!**_ I'll see you in ten minutes, then."

Ron used those ten minutes to review his ever-growing list of signature recipes and prepare a shopping list to include all the necessary ingredients he did not already remember finding in the pantry before he made the call. Luckily, he only lacked the meats for the main course and one or two items for his experimental 'showcase' dessert.

After he returned from his trip to King Food, Ron looked at the clock and smiled…

…_4:33pm…_

…There was still plenty of time for Ron Stoppable to execute…

…'_**Operation Paris**__'..._

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…Donald and Jean Stoppable opened the door and were greeted with a full palette of joyful aromas. In addition, their only son, wearing a white shirt, black pants, and matching bowtie, met them just inside the doorway.

In his best French accent (which was not saying much), Ron motioned toward the dining room and bellowed "Bon-jewr, Monsieur and Madame Stoppablé. Welcome to Chez Ron-ald. Your us-u-al table eez available zis e-ve-ning."

Once they reached the table in question, Ron's parents were astonished. Two tapered candles, in a pine cone centerpiece, provided the only light in the room. They both got a chuckle when they noticed a bottle of sparkling apple cider sitting between the glasses poured for each of them. The bottle rested in an ice-filled bucket, chilling like champagne.

Ron gestured toward one seat for his father while pulling out the chair for his mother. Once the two of them were seated, Ron came up to his father and, in the same cheesy accent, said, "Monsieur, we have two spec-i-als zis e-ve-ning. Would you prefer ze salmon with lemon and baby carrots or ze porterhouse steak with buttered asparagus?"

Still slightly confused, Donald mentioned, "I'll…have the porterhouse…well done, but not dry, if it's possible."

"Splendid!" Ron beamed. Thankfully, he already knew how his dad like his steak, and it was just about finished in the kitchen. He turned to his mother and continued, "And what would ze lady prefer?"

Jean warmly giggled and replied, "I'll take the salmon tonight, Garçon."

Ron smiled and exclaimed, "An excellent choice, Madame. I will return shortly with your selec-ti-ons."

On that note, Ron turned on his heel and strutted away from the table, but not before hitting the 'Play' button on a 'boom-box' CD player near the kitchen door. Traditional violin music wafted from its speakers as 'Ron-ald' resumed his work in the kitchen.

Ron quickly put the finishing touches on the steak and salmon entrees. He knew his mother's favorite dish as salmon, so he cooked one steak and two salmon filets. Upon placement of the meat and vegetables on each of the heated plates, with the drizzled stripes of softened butter and the lemon wedges serving as garnish for each respective meal, Ron checked the refrigerator. He wanted to make sure the necessary parts for the surprise dessert, along with two other wine flute glasses, were properly chilled.

With a dramatic flare, Ron emerged with the dinners for his parents. After placing the dishes in front of each of them, he held the bottle of sparkling apple cider and offered refills for their glasses. Once that was completed, he declared, "I'm off to complete your dessert for zis ev-e-ning. I will return in a few meen-ettes to check on ze two of you."

After an even more pronounced strut into the kitchen, Ron quickly removed a cookie sheet from the top shelf of the refrigerator. The sheet was completely covered with a layer of graham-cracker crust, at just the right texture for use in his experiment.

Using the rims of the glasses like cookie cutters, Ron made six circles in the pliable sheet of crust. He then packed one of the circles into the bottoms of each glass. Soon, he brought out two bowls of pudding—one chocolate, one vanilla.

With a spoon, Ron dropped a layer of vanilla pudding and a layer of chocolate pudding before gently placing another graham-cracker layer half-way down the glass. He spooned another layer of each pudding in the glasses before capping them with the other cut circles of crust.

Not wanting to waste anything, he then formed most of the remaining crust into a pie pan and shaped the rest of the pudding into what he would call 'Yin Yang Pie'. It was styled like the well-known circular Tao symbol, with a spooned dot of vanilla pudding in the heart of the chocolate portion and a corresponding pip of chocolate pudding in the middle of the vanilla portion.

He had just enough leftover crust to shape the letters, 'THANKS MRS DR P' and carefully place them across the middle of the pie. Ron decided this would be his present to Kim's mother for helping him get the remaining ingredients he needed.

Once he finished with each of these desserts, he quickly dispatched them back into the refrigerator for a finishing touch of cooling that would solidify the units as more than merely a sum of their parts.

When he entered the dining room once more, he was met with the face of a mother concerned for her boy's well-being. Jean observed, "I didn't see you bring out a plate for yourself. What are _you_ eating, Ronnie?"

Maintaining his poorly-accented character, he responded, "Not to worry, Madame. I knew you would order ze salmon. Eet ees your fa-vor-eet. Zat's why I cooked two filets while preparing ze steak." He motioned to Donald and added, "Whichever one Monsieur deed not order, I knew I would gladly consume. Besides, Ru-fus will get ze extra asparagus I left for heem to-night."

Jean rolled her eyes ever-so-slightly at the mention of Ron's imaginary friend. Still, she knew one other person who liked to 'raid the fridge' late at night. He would definitely enjoy those extra spears of green...with a little help from the microwave, of course.

A few minutes later, Ron decided to check on his parents once more, to see if everything was to their liking. It appeared the steak was perfect, the asparagus was delicious, the salmon was tasty, and the carrots added just the right touch to complete the experience.

Ron rushed back into the kitchen to grab a white envelope and the two desserts. He presented the desserts to his parents and announced, "Zis e-ve-ning, I pree-zent to you weeth ze 'Seven Tiers of Bliss' parfait."

While Jean marveled at the beauty and simplicity of the dessert, Donald eyed him suspiciously. "Okay, 'Ron-ald'," he challenged, "just what is all this about? Or, to put it in your terms…Check, please!"

Ron heartily laughed and produced the envelope from behind his back. Donald opened the envelope to reveal the newsletter, folded to emphasize the 'American Bake-Off®' announcement. After showing the announcement to Jean, he bore his eyes upon the boy and paraphrased a line from a movie they rented a couple of weeks earlier…

"_**Son, you had me at 'porterhouse'!"**_

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_**Coming next week...**_

_...An unusual 'cameo' appearance, a black belt, and a brain carved with precision..._

_**...Bon Appetit!** _

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_**Author's ending notes:**_

I swear…this thing was supposed to be only one…maybe two chapters at the longest. It just turned into 'Plot-Zilla' and began ravaging the countryside of my mind until it was finally eliminated. **Now I know how _Tokyo_ felt!!**

In all seriousness, I really did have a blast putting all this together. **_I hope you come along for the ride._**

The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the** _constructive_** feedback of its readers. If you like it, I will gladly make more. If you think of ways to make it better, I am always open to suggestions. If you really think it's a piece of garbage, stop me before I strike again!!

Once more, _**Review me, e-mail me if you wanna reach me! When you want to 'PM' me, it's ok!**_

Your friend in writing,

The Samurai Crunchbird®


	2. Three Two One COOK!

_**My standard KP disclaimer:**_

I know Disney owns "Kim Possible"...lock, stock, and Rufus.

If they want to sue me, they have to get behind all my other creditors.

Since I am in south Florida, the line has formed to the right

…and goes all the way to Sacramento!

**_If a name has an ®, I own it. If it doesn't, I don't!_**

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Opening notes:**_

**1)** Since most of the previous 'ch-**RON**-icles' were only one or two chapters in length, I did not have the opportunity to thank all the loyal readers (_**both **of you!_) who took time out of their busy schedules to read and review these installments. **I especially wish to thank _kaiokken, Cylon One, screaming phoenix, Mengsk, Captain IT, Kwebs, Nftnat, and CajunBear73_ for their 'Chapter One' reviews here.**

**2)** _**As I wrote in the notes for the first chapter, I released that chapter a little early to raise awareness for the 'Stamp Out Hunger' food drive. It was to benefit 'America's Second Harvest', the nation's largest network of food banks. I hope at least some of you took the time to contribute, either with cans during the drive or by other donations afterward. For those who did, I greatly appreciate it. For those who did not, please consider a donation to a food bank near you.**_

**3)** In addition to these _'ch-**RON**-icles'_, I have been 'beta-reader/story editor' for 'When Heroes Fall' since its third chapter. With the release of Chapter 36 this weekend, **_snapbang_** has written an epic story that is fast approaching its conclusion. While it **_is_** rated 'T' for violence and language, I encourage those who are comfortable with such items to read it (and maybe send a review). That is, _**after**_ you are done here!

For now, let's just sit back and…

**Enjoy the show!**

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'_ch-__**RON**__-icles:__** American Dream**'_

**_Chapter Two: Three...Two...One...COOK!_**

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…_For Marla Kildow and Robert Leigh…_

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_While Jean marveled at the beauty and simplicity of the dessert, Donald eyed him suspiciously. "Okay, 'Ron-ald'," he challenged, "just what is all this about? Or, to put it in your terms…Check, please!"_

_Ron heartily laughed and produced the envelope from behind his back. Donald opened the envelope to reveal the newsletter, folded to emphasize the 'American Bake-Off®' announcement. After showing the announcement to Jean, he bore his eyes upon the boy and paraphrased a line from a movie they rented a couple of weeks earlier…_

"_**Son, you had me at 'porterhouse'!"**_

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…After the dismissal bell from their last class on Friday, Kim and Ron were at their lockers, recapping the portion of the day they were away from each other.

"So," Kim began, "did anything exciting happen to you after lunch today?"

Ron dismissed, "Oh, nothing much, KP. I just got back from the principal's office. That's all."

"_**WHAT??**_" Kim shrieked. "Did those bullies come after you again?"

Ron quickly pulled out a paper and reassured, "No, No, No, Kim! I picked up the rules and official entry form for the contest this weekend."

"Contest?" Kim wondered. She then examined the paper Ron offered and realized, "Oh, yeah! That's tomorrow, right?"

"A-Yup-Yup!" Ron boasted. "It's time for the Ron-man to unleash his mad cooking skills on the world!"

Kim recalled, "Mom mentioned something about it last night over dinner. Have you picked out your recipe yet?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck and responded, "I've…got a couple of options open right now. But I'm really torn. I mean, the 'Junior' category rules state the recipe I use here cannot be repeated if I move on to the nationals." He looked toward his shoes and scoffed, "Hah! Like I've got a snowball's chance in the oven, anyway."

Kim placed her hands on Ron's shoulders, gave him her sweetest smile and declared, "Ron Stoppable, I _lo_—" For some reason, her mind stopped and jumped its track to a different sentence. "I _know_ if anyone can pull off a spankin' recipe, it's my best friend in the whole world!"

Kim heard the familiar beep of her mother's mini-van before she could wonder where that last thought of hers was formed. She gave him a hug and sighed, "I gotta go, Ron. Another 'black belt' test today."

Ron was taken aback. He pulled from the hugged and noted, "Another one? That would make it…what…_thirteen_ different styles now, right?"

Kim pointed to Ron's contest form and smirked, "You've got your mission…I've got mine!"

"BOO-Yeah! Give 'em heck, KP!" Ron shouted as he exchanged 'high-fives' and got another quick hug from Kim.

He was just about to board his usual bus when a distinctive car horn was heard. It belonged to the station wagon of Jean Stoppable. From an open window, she soon called out, "Yoo-hoo…Ronnie…Mommy's come to pick you up."

Ron nearly pretended he didn't hear her just so he could dodge his embarrassment. Such thoughts were erased when she honked once more and added, "Come on, Ronnie…I'm blocking traffic here!"

Not wanting to make the scene any worse, if there was even a way to do so, Ron waved to the bus driver before crawling into the station wagon.

Ron was perplexed as the car pulled away from the school. "Mom," he wondered, "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Jean explained, "I told my boss about last night's…dining experience and showed her the announcement. She gave me the rest of the day off to get you set up for the contest."

Ron was horrified. "No, Mom…_Please_…_**NOT**_ after that 'Paper Machete' disaster!"

Oblivious to the damage that incident caused her son, she lightly chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, Ronnie. The parents are only supposed to keep an eye on their kids for this, right?"

He quickly reviewed the rules. "Um…Yeah."

Jean reasoned, "I figure I can do _**that**_ without anybody needing to call the police."

They both laughed at that remark before Ron's face became confused once more. "I thought you said your boss was 'The Dragon Lady'. What made her change her mind?"

Jean gave a knowing smile and said, "Leftovers. I brought the rest of last night's dinner to work to have for lunch. I gave her a bite of the salmon, and she begged for the recipe. In exchange for giving that to her on Monday, she gave me the rest of the day off…_with pay!_"

After a few seconds of silence to let the magnitude of that event settle, Jean posed the same magic question Kim asked moments ago. "Have you picked out your recipe yet?"

Ron was torn at this moment. On the one hand, he wanted to go with a variation of that simple, yet brilliant, dessert from last night. On the other hand, this may have been the time to unleash that 'nacho-and-taco combination' which still dominated his dreams.

The car pulled up to a red light. As it waited for the signal to change, Ron let his mind wrestle with this selection.

Without thinking, his head was turned toward the marquee signs of the Middleton 12 movie theater. Each of the four signs bore titles for three of the movie playing in the multiplex. When the car first came to a stop, one of the signs noted the following three movies…

"_**NOTE WORTHY...EYETEETH...HELLO TORONTO**__"_

Ron made up his mind to unleash the beef and cheese concoction. Sure…the 'Junior' category rules stated that the regional recipe could not be used for the national competition. That being said, he knew he had too much competition to take first or second place here. This, he figured, was his one and only _**real**_ shot at fulfilling his dream.

Suddenly, two massive dump trucks sped through the intersection from left to right. The gust of wind brought on by the passing vehicles blew most of the letters off the sign, leaving just three words and some punctuation…

"_**NOT—...**_—_**YET—...**__**—RON—**__"_

Taking this message to heart, his mind quickly shifted gears as he declared, "I'm going to go with the 'Seven Layers of Bliss'; but that Meese's® cup you packed in my lunch gave me an idea on how to crank it up a level."

Jean drove into the Smarty Mart parking lot and mused, "Well then…I guess it's time we conducted a little 'research'. Don't you agree?"

Within seconds, Ron grabbed a cart and cheered, "Let's get mixing!!"

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…The Middleton Civic Center was abuzz with activity that Saturday morning. Representatives from the 'Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®' set up more than 300 different kitchen stations for culinary artists from the seven states of its Rocky Mountain region—Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado.

Over 100 of the stations in the 'kitchen arena' were designated with white place cards for contestants in the 'Senior' category. More than 60 of the remaining areas were marked with red place cards for 'Junior' contestants. Those not used by either group were already adorned with their blue place cards to be used as part of the afternoon competition.

Contestants requisitioned their bowls, plates, cookware, and equipment from a central location emblazoned with the logos of the event's co-sponsors, Samurai® cutlery, Neverstick® cookware, Flashpoint® appliances, and PlasticMaid® bowls and plastic utensils. Massive Flashpoint® refrigerators were closely monitored by security guards and event officials.

Agri-Con® also set up an area where, as specified in the rules, contestants could obtain various ingredients made by the Agri-Con® family of companies at no charge. While the rules stated these ingredients were completely optional, using at least one of them was _**strongly**_ recommended. Since the judges were hired by Agri-Con®, competitors were _**greatly**_ encouraged to accept the corporation's generosity…especially if they wanted a realistic chance to win. Fortunately, virtually all of Ron's ingredients for this round were part of the Agri-Con® family. He only needed to bring a gallon of milk, along with his backpack.

His mother carried the box of champagne flute glasses. The PlasticMaid® parfait cups were nice, but just did not chill as quickly or thoroughly as the flute glasses. Besides, they were not tall enough to allow a decent food portion and all seven layers at the same time.

Ron looked around and found his cooking station, directly on the end of one of the rows of similar-looking spaces in the 'kitchen arena'. His spot was marked with a simple red place card…

_**RM-J-142**_

_**R. Stoppable**_

_**Colorado**_

With the help of his mother, and a miniature cart, Ron quickly placed all his ingredients on the counter.

Once Jean and Ron finished placing the pans and ingredients in the right positions, they placed the milk and the flute glasses into the refrigerator to begin the chilling process. Although he previously used only two glasses, the contest rules required all recipes to at least yield four servings to allow each judge to sample the finished product.

With just less than ten minutes before the start of the competition, he noticed two flashes of red hair in the distance. Once he focused on them, his spirits were raised. Not only was his best friend in attendance, her mother made the trip, too.

"KP!!" He yelled over the crowd. Despite her mother's initial protests, Kim was almost at the edge of Ron's station when she noticed the yellow barrier tape. As she began to lift the tape and duck under it, she was met by one of the security guards.

"Sorry, miss," the guard warned, "but this area is restricted to participants and parents only."

Ron heard this and gasped, "_**You're**_ not entering the contest, are you?"

Kim gave an incredulous look and replied, "As if! I'm here to support you now and Mom in the 'General' competition."

Ron ducked under the tape to leave the kitchen area, wiped his brow and proclaimed, "Whew! Thank God!"

Kim placed her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes and snarked, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Jean ducked under the tape, joined her son, and interjected, "I'm sure Ronnie meant he was glad you are here to support him, right dear?"

Ron caught on to where his mother was leading the discussion. "Yeah, KP. I'm glad _you_ have _my_ back on this one!"

While Kim began to blush, Dr. Anne Possible joined her daughter. This led Ron to ponder, "Mrs. Dr. P., are _**you**_ whipping up anything for this shindig?"

Anne knew Ron enjoyed her cooking almost as much he enjoyed hanging out with her daughter. Still, his compliment made her giggle a bit as she wistfully discarded, "Oh, I thought I'd see just how well _other_ people would enjoy my 'Brainloaf'." She leaned forward and hugged Ron as she added, "By the way, that 'Yin Yang Pie' you two brought over last night was terrific. It was expertly designed as well as delicious."

Ron returned the hug with, "It's the least I could do after you helped me plan that wonderful night for my 'rents."

Anne pulled away and chuckled, "It's no big deal, Ronald. I needed to go there any for some ground beef. They don't have _**that**_ at the Agri-Con® tent—and you can't really have 'Brainloaf' without the 'loaf', right? Besides, I know it's a hit at home, but I don't want to go through life wondering if the compliments are just to be nice, that's all. I mean...inside someone's noggin, I'm confident that I'm 'world-class'. However, I still wonder how good I am in the kitchen, when compared to more than just my own family."

Ron nodded, "You've got that right. Not much competition _there_, huh?"

Kim's face grew hot again, "Now what's _**THAT**_ supposed to mean?"

This time, Ron knew he was beyond saving, so he pressed onward. "Face it, Kim…you 'kung-fu' chop, I dice and chop. It's who we are…it's what we do. _You're_ the best at what _you_ do, but you found out through the tests for your different belts. This is kinda like a 'black belt' test here for me right now, and for your mom a little later…okay?"

Kim's face lost all traces of anger. "Gosh," she considered, "I never thought of it that way."

Through the public address speakers, a voice announced, "Attention, all 'Junior' and 'Senior' contestants…the 'Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®' official time is 9:57am. The contest will begin in three minutes. Please make all your last-minute preparations now."

Ron motioned back toward his station and sighed, "That's my cue, KP. I gotta get going."

Before he could finish turning toward his station, Kim spun him back to face her. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a long, black piece of cloth, with gold stripes on its top and bottom. Wrapping it around his shirt, she admitted, "My thirteenth black belt…from yesterday."

She then planted a kiss squarely on his forehead. In ensuing fog of his mind, he _thought_ he heard her say, "That's for luck. Go get 'em Ron!"

He wasn't completely sure about those words—or even how he got back to his station. The first thing he remembered hearing clearly after that was the competition's traditional countdown…

"…_Three_…

…_**Two**_…

…_**One**_…

…_**COOK!!**_"

Ron abruptly went into his own version of what would be described later in his life as 'Mission Mode'. With cat-like reflexes, he opened all of the boxes, jars, and bottles holding the necessary ingredients for a 'peanut- butter-and-chocolate' version of his 'Seven Tiers of Bliss'.

Jean was allowed to communicate verbally with Ron, as well as perform appropriate safety measures, such as first-aid and fire control. Event officials and banks of video cameras vigilantly monitored the aisles of stations to prevent any rules violations.

Jean sat in a nearby chair and watched as her 'Little Ronnie' worked his magic. Remembering her lesson as the first rule of cooking, he briskly washed his hands and got to work.

He melted a stick of Margarino® spread in one shallow pan, and one portion of Yippy® peanut butter in another pan. As they were melting, Ron placed a box worth of Hello® chocolate instant pudding into one blender, while placing a box worth of its vanilla counterpart in another blender.

Since the butter and peanut butter were on extremely-low heat, he had just enough time to blend the milk with the pudding mixes and crush a box of Banisco® graham crackers. For this step, he placed the crackers between sheets of Wrapalot® wax paper and crushed them with a rolling pin.

When the warmed ingredients reached the perfect consistency, Ron turned off the heat and carefully poured the peanut butter into the blender with the vanilla pudding. Once he blended this mixture, he poured both pudding compounds into large plastic bowls. He then used a mixer to combine the butter and the finely crushed graham cracker crumbs. He pressed the mixture onto a cookie sheet lined with wax paper.

Placing the cookie sheet on one shelf of the cart and the sealed pudding bowls on the lower shelf, Ron wheeled the cart over to the nearby Flashpoint® refrigerator that already held the flute glasses and the remaining milk.

After rolling the cart back to his station, he glanced toward the countdown clock:

…_**1 hour, 45 minutes, 27 seconds remaining…**_

Taking a deep breath, he cleared the counter of his station, lined it with wax paper to prevent it from getting dirty, and…pulled a pencil and notebook from his backpack.

Some members of the audience were shocked to see Ron nonchalantly writing in his notebook. From the crowd, comments flew across the entire center…

"_What does he think he's doing?"_

"_**Is his head on straight?**__"_

"_Is that kid doing his **homework** in the middle of the contest?"_

"_**Who does he think he is, Julian Child?**__"_

When some of the surrounding competitors began complaining, an event official approached Ron's station. A cameraman with long blond hair, kept in a net for 'kitchen sanitary' purposes, was hired by Agri-Con® to record stock footage of the event. He instinctively trained his device on the blooming situation.

The official pointedly asked, "You _do_ realize the contest is not over yet…_**right?**_"

Ron heard some of the comments from the stands, but only became annoyed when his competition began their tirades. Thankfully, his 'parental supervision' intervened just before he said something that would've probably forced his ejection.

Jean motioned toward the binder in the official's hands. With a syrupy-sweet smile and a sing-song voice, she addressed the official. "Kind sir," she began, "you have a copy of my Ronnie's recipe, do you not?"

His voice unwavering, the official droned, "Of course, Mrs. Stoppable." He leafed through the binder and stopped at the recipe in question. "It's right here."

She elevated her sweetness to a level which would have made Pollyanna feel sick as she motioned toward the countdown. "Look at the clock…" Both heads spotted the timer:

…_**1 hour, 14 minutes, 37 seconds remaining…**_

She kept her mannerisms as she pointed to the binder. "Look at the recipe…" The official's gaze was once again focused on the page in the binder.

She continued, "Now, look at my face...and listen _**very**_ carefully..."

When the official looked up from the binder, he saw the face of a demon, glaring at him with titanium-piercing eyes and the snarl of a werewolf. Although it was actually the light of a nearby 'Exit' sign reflecting in her glasses, he could have sworn her eyes were starting to give a red glow as she roared…

"_**BACK **__**OFF**__**, JACK!!**__"_

Not only did this silence the official, everybody else making comments quickly turned away from this 'she-devil'. After a moment, Ron turned to Jean and asked, "Mom, are you okay?"

The question snapped her mindset out of its raging inferno and returned it to its normal, 'happy-go-lucky' demeanor. She warmly smiled toward her son and paraphrased a line from a movie she and Donald rented one night while Ron was eating dinner at Kim's house. "Oh, I'm fine, dear. It's just that, as long as I live…" her voice dipped to a low rumble as she leaned close and uttered…

"_Nobody__ puts my Ronnie in a corner!"_

They shared a good laugh at that line. While she continued laughing, the cameraman felt he had enough footage of this moment and continued his rounds.

A second later, Jean noticed Ron violently scribbling something on a different sheet of the notebook. This piqued her curiosity.

"Just what _**are**_ you writing, anyway?" she requested.

During his rapid note-taking, Ron chirped, "Mrs. Marlow said she'd give me extra credit if I wrote an essay on my experiences here at the contest."

Jean recalled, "She's your 'Contemporary American History' teacher, isn't she?"

"A-Yup-Yup." He confirmed. "She said this is just as much a reflection of Americana as anything in class."

Jean smirked, "Judging by that mid-term report you showed me, you need all the help you can get there."

Now it was Ron's turn to stand with his hands on his hips, imitating Kim's pose from earlier as he mocked her voice and snipped, "Now what's _**THAT**_ supposed to mean?"

Jean slightly reeled from Ron's 'dead-on' impersonation of his best friend, and burst into uncontrollable laughter. Ron kept his 'Kim face' for a few more seconds before surrendering to the laughter himself…

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…Ron decided to write his essay in a 'timeline' format. By the time he put the final touches on his recollection of the run-in with the official, he heard his mother utter those two magic words…

…"_Fifteen minutes."_

Ron gave a firm nod, stuffed his notebook into his backpack, and cleared the counter again.

Ron rushed with the cart to the Flashpoint® refrigerator and removed the sealed pudding bowls, covered cookie sheet, and the four flute glasses he remembered placing there.

As he was beginning to bring the cart back to his station, the cameraman was once again making his rounds. Not watching where he was going, the cameraman bumped into Ron's cart. The glasses were already lying flat down on the shelf of the cart. However, the impact caused one of the glasses to roll off the shelf…

…_and shatter on the concrete floor!!_

The cameraman, identified by his dangling name tag as 'Edward', honestly regretted his actions. "Whoa!" He apologized, "Didn't mean to harsh your mellow, dude…Seriously!"

Ron's face was whirling with emotions of shock, horror, defeat, and rage at the same time. He needed four glasses to serve his dish for the judges. Now he was down to three, with no time to properly chill one of the PlasticMaid® glasses as a weak substitute.

His face was about to erupt with the fire of a thousand volcanoes. He sputtered, "Why, you…_you_…_You_…_**You dirty—**_"

"_**RONNIE!!**_" Jean shouted. "Just grab the other glasses. You're running low on time!"

Ron pressed on with his tirade. "I don't care how big you and your mullet are! You better be glad my mom is here, or else I'd knock you flat on your…" His face froze as his mind finally caught up to Jean's words. "The…_**other**_…glasses? _**Mom, why didn't you tell me about the other glasses?**_"

"This _IS_ my way of telling you." Jean rushed, "They're behind the milk. _**Hurry!!**_"

Ron reached behind the milk jug and found the two glasses Jean described. While he secured them, Edward made a hasty retreat all the way to other end of the 'kitchen arena'.

Once Ron returned to his station with the five remaining glasses (three originals plus two new ones), he washed his hands and looked up at the timer once again:

_**...12 minutes, 57 seconds remaining…**_

The assembly went as smoothly as it did on Thursday night. He carefully covered the flute glasses with Wrapalot® plastic wrap. He then sealed the bowls of leftover pudding and graham cracker crust and placed them back in the Flashpoint® refrigerator.

Satisfied with his work, he turned and gave his mother an incredulous look. "What was the deal with the other glasses, anyway?"

"Well," Jean explained, "I saw that your recipe said it yielded between four and six servings. I figured we'd use the other two glasses to toast our success…or drown our sorrows. Either way, it's a good thing I put them in there during pre-competition setup."

Ron had just enough time to give his mother another hug before he heard the crowd chanting…

"…Five…

…_Four_…

…_**Three**_…

…_**Two**_…

…_**ONE**_…"

A 140-decibel air horn signaled the end of the competition.

Thankfully, the judges made Ron's station one of their first stops along the line. This meant they enjoyed the 'Seven Layers of Bliss' at its chilled peak. After Ron answered a few of their questions, they were convinced that he, not his mother, was the true creator of this simple, yet elegant dessert…

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…The announcer had just finished naming the winners in the 'Senior' category. He proclaimed, "It's time for the 'Juniors'. These kids have all given a tremendous effort today. Let's give them a big round of applause, everybody!"

The spectators in attendance gave a standing ovation toward the Junior section of the kitchen 'arena'.

The announcer glanced at his note cards. "Let's get to the Third Place winner, who will receive a five hundred dollar Toys 'B' Us® gift certificate. And that contestant is…Ron S…Ron S…"

…Ron Stoppable's heart began to sink as he clutched his mother a little tighter…

"…Ronsasha Jennings of Arizona!"

The ten-year-old ebony-skinned girl and her mother rushed up to the podium and accepted her prize, after having their picture taken with Gypsy, the Toys 'B' Us® zebra.

The announcer proceeded, "Our Second Place winner, who will receive one thousand dollars and a spot at next month's 'Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®' national competition in Omaha is…Janet Martin of Utah!"

A petite girl cheerfully strolled up to the podium and accepted her check. Along with her stood a tall, blond woman and a stocky elderly lady, each wearing decorative pins in the shape of a cake slice. The cake-costumed official mascot for the competition, Morselle®, stood behind the three of them as they each held the check in one hand for pictures.

While they were smiling, the announcer pointed toward the 'Morselle®' pins on each of the older women and introduced them. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mildred Romano, 1969 national 'Appetizer' champion. Beside her is Amy Romano-Martin, 1987 national 'Dessert' champion. This is indeed a momentous occasion. With her advancement to Omaha, 15-year-old Janet Martin has the opportunity to become the first 'third-generation' national champion in the 100-year history of the 'Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®!"

Another wave of cheers came from the crowd. It lasted for a full minute as Mildred, Amy, and Janet joined hands, raised their arms in victory, and bowed to the audience.

Ron was quickly grabbed his notebook. In his essay notes, he scribbled, "Her 'Five-Meat Lasagna' got some serious buzz. Must have a doozy of a recipe for nationals. Feel sorry for those against her there…especially the poor soul who takes first here!"

The announcer waited for them to leave the stage area before continuing. "And our First Place winner, who gets a three thousand dollar check, an automatic entry into the 'Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®', and the title of 'Rocky Mountain Junior Champion' is…_TOM DROPPABLE!!_"

Those in attendance pored through every page of their souvenir programs. All of the contestants and their parents looked all around for the person he announced. Confusion and chaos were brewing as they all discovered there was no competitor by that name. An event official wrote something on a note card and quickly shoved it into the announcer's hands.

In the typical fashion of reading everything written for him, the announcer declared, "That's Ron Stoppable of Colorado, You Bloody Idiot!" He soon realized the added comment on the card was not supposed to be read. He scowled at the card's writer and cleared his throat to try again. "I mean…the winner is _**RON STOPPABLE of Colorado!!**_"

The entire crowd roared with approval as Jean and Ron approached the podium. Once they got there, Kim clamped her arms in a death grip around Ron. Jean and Anne surrounded their children for a massive group hug. They all broke from the embrace long enough for Jean to hold the prize check and Ron to raise the trophy high above his head.

Thankfully for most concerned, Ron was standing behind the podium while holding the trophy. With Jean on one side of him, the Possibles on the other side, and the podium covering his front, nobody noticed Ron's pants fall down and reveal his 'Kiss the Chef' boxer shorts…

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Dr. Anne Possible was facing her own 'moment of truth' a short time later. While Ron and Jean were packing their supplies and cleaning their station, Anne and Kim found the stations unused in the earlier competition. Their attention was drawn to one of the stations marked with the following blue place card…

_**RM-MD-137**_

_**Dr. A. Possible**_

_**Colorado**_

"Well," Anne chuckled, "that must be a good sign. I know it stands for 'Main Dish', but it's only fitting a doctor should have '_**MD**_' on her place card!"

She gave Kim specific instructions to place the items on a pre-assigned list…and _**ONLY**_ those items…on the counter. It was more than just a coincidence that _**none**_ of those items contained a single molecule of edible material. Each item on that list was accompanied by its own picture, just to prevent any confusion on the matter.

While Anne was placing her food ingredients on the _**other**_ end of the counter…far, far away from Kim…she heard a voice shout, "Mrs. Dr. P!"

She knew that voice anywhere. Ron and Jean were approaching, with the cart containing their leftover supplies.

Once they reached her station, Jean was first to speak, "How are you feeling, Anne?"

"Oh," she sighed, "I'm a little nervous. After all, I've never cooked in a stadium before."

Kim took this moment to encourage her mother. "It's like you told me yesterday…Just have fun. After all, it's like dad always said…"

In unison, all four of them repeated the oft-used phrase, "Anything's possible for a Possible."

"Jinx!" Anne chirped. "All of you owe me a soda."

Kim could only stand in shock, flabbergasted at being 'jinxed' by her own mother. Anne took this opportunity to point to a large paper bag in the corner of her station and state, "Don't worry, Kimmie. Nana Possible gave me a few tips on how to make this an experience the judges will never forget."

Ron soon pulled something out of his pocket and offered it to Anne. It was Kim's black belt she earned one day earlier…the same one he wore during his own victory.

He reasoned, "It gave me good luck. Maybe it could do the same for you…if it's alright with KP." Kim smiled and nodded her approval. Once Anne wrapped the belt around her waist, she and Ron exchanged deep bows. Using his best attempt at an oriental accent, Ron concluded, "Make me proud, grasshopper!"

Kim, Ron, and Jean joined Anne in one more group hug before Jean muttered in Anne's ear, "You go, girl!" Soon, Ron and Jean took Kim to their seats in the audience.

Anne scrubbed her arms as if she were going into surgery. She took one more deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and mused, "Okay, Dr. Possible…It's time to _operate!_"

She stretched her arms as the familiar countdown was chanted…

"…_Three_…

…_**Two**_…

…_**One**_…

…_**COOK!!**_"

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Anne was rather proud of her work. When it came out of the oven, it was a perfect model of a human brain in shape and size. It was more detailed than any other attempt she had ever made before. Judging by the small 'sample' of excess meatloaf mixture, which she lovingly called her 'biopsy', it was also her best _**tasting**_ effort in all her years of making the dish.

To keep her creation warm until judging, Anne placed the dish back in the oven, already shut off earlier. Reaching into the large paper bag at the end of her station, she made some last-minute preparations. She barely finished donning her costume over her clothes as the crowd chanted…

"…Five…

…_Four_…

…_**Three**_…

…_**Two**_…

…_**ONE**_…"

A 140-decibel air horn signaled the end of the competition.

When the judges reached Anne's station, they were more than a little bit frightened at first. Here was a woman in physician's scrubs, surgical cap, mask, gloves, and hospital slippers, carving on what appeared to be a human brain with a scalpel and forceps. Their fears turned to laughter as Anne skillfully carved even slices of the 'brain'. The cross-sections clearly revealed its true identity as a brain-shaped meatloaf. Still, more than one judge mentioned its uncanny resemblance to a golden-browned version of its human counterpart. This led one of the other judges to remark, "If this was how brain tasted, I'd _**beg**_ to be a zombie!"

Anne's smile was hidden by her mask, but heard in her voice. "Why, thank you so much for concurring with my initial diagnosis. At least we know the patient will not end up being…a _**vegetable!**_"

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Coming next week...**_

_...A stranded motorist, a sign from above, and a family secret..._

_**...I can hardly contain myself!** _

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Author's ending note:**_

The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the** _constructive_** feedback of its readers. If you like it, I will gladly make more. If you think of ways to make it better, I am always open to suggestions. If you really think it's a piece of garbage, stop me before I strike again!!

Once more, _**Review me, e-mail me if you wanna reach me! When you want to 'PM' me, it's ok!**_

Your friend in writing,

The Samurai Crunchbird®


	3. Snow Drifts and Bobby Q

_**My standard KP disclaimer:**_

I know Disney owns "Kim Possible"...lock, stock, and Rufus.

If they want to sue me, they have to get behind all my other creditors.

Since I am in south Florida, the line has formed to the right

…and goes all the way to Sacramento!

**_If a name has an ®, I own it. If it doesn't, I don't!_**

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Opening notes:**_

**1)** Since most of the previous 'ch-**RON**-icles' were only one or two chapters in length, I did not have the opportunity to thank all the loyal readers (_**both **of you!_) who took time out of their busy schedules to read and review these installments. **I especially wish to thank **_**Mengsk (**more about him in a moment**), screaming phoenix,Captain IT, Kwebs, and CajunBear73**_** for their 'Chapter Two' reviews, along with a belated Chapter One review from _Ron HeartBreaker_.**

**2)** _Friday, **May 16, 2008**, was a milestone date in my FanFiction 'career' (as it were, since we don't get paid or anything)...On the same day I posted Chapter Two of this story (my **45th** chapter, combining all my works), I received my **THREE HUNDREDTH OVERALL REVIEW!!** Thanks again to** Mengsk** for that._

_Also on the same day, my epic tale,** 'So the Reality: Amazing Race'**, registered its **TWENTY-FIVE HUNDREDTH HIT!!** To all who have ever read this story, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!_

_Sure...for many of you, those figures are probably mere 'chump change' (except for those who always write about monkey powers...in which case you would consider this 'chimp change'). Still, **I** consider these to be great milestones, and appreciate all the support I have received in my first 11 months with FanFiction._

**3)** In addition to these _'ch-**RON**-icles'_, I have been 'beta-reader/story editor' for 'When Heroes Fall' since its third chapter. With the release of Chapter 37 this weekend, **_snapbang_** has written an epic story that is fast approaching its conclusion. While it **_is_** rated 'T' for violence and language, I encourage those who are comfortable with such items to read it (and maybe send a review). That is, _**after**_ you are done here!

For now, let's just sit back and…

**Enjoy the show!**

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

'_ch-__**RON**__-icles:__** American Dream**'_

**_Chapter Three: Snow Drifts and Bobby Q_**

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…_For Marla Kildow, Robert Leigh, and Holly Nielson…_

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_Anne was rather proud of her work. When it came out of the oven, it was a perfect model of a human brain in shape and size. It was more detailed than any other attempt she had ever made before. Judging by the small 'sample' of excess meatloaf mixture, which she lovingly called her 'biopsy', it was also her best **tasting** effort in all her years of making the dish._

_To keep her creation warm until judging, Anne placed the dish back in the oven, already shut off earlier. Reaching into the large paper bag at the end of her station, she made some last-minute preparations. She barely finished donning her costume over her clothes as the crowd chanted…_

_"…Five…_

_…Four…_

_…**Three**…_

_…**Two**…_

_…**ONE**…"_

_A 140-decibel air horn signaled the end of the competition._

_When the judges reached Anne's station, they were more than a little bit frightened at first. Here was a woman in physician's scrubs, surgical cap, mask, gloves, and hospital slippers, carving on what appeared to be a human brain with a scalpel and forceps. Their fears turned to laughter as Anne skillfully carved even slices of the 'brain'. The cross-sections clearly revealed its true identity as a brain-shaped meatloaf. Still, more than one judge mentioned its uncanny resemblance to a golden-browned version of its human counterpart. This led one of the other judges to remark, "If this was how brain tasted, I'd **beg** to be a zombie!"_

_Anne's smile was hidden by her mask, but heard in her voice. "Why, thank you so much for concurring with my initial diagnosis. At least we know the patient will not end up being…a **vegetable!**"_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…The announcer was once again at the podium. He had already completed his duties for the 'Bread', 'Dessert', and 'Side Dish' categories. All that remained were the winners for 'Main Dish'…

"Ladies and gentlemen, we had a record 158 'Main Dish' contestants at this year's Rocky Mountain regional contest. They all deserve a big hand, everybody."

In an almost Pavlovian response, the audience applauded once again.

"This year, our Third Place winner, who will receive a one thousand dollar Smarty Mart gift certificate, is…Dran Nepossible of Colorado!!"

Once more, the crowd began to scan through their souvenir programs. The event official who corrected the earlier mistake shoved another card in the announcer's face. Not learning his lesson from last time, he beamed, "That's Doctor Anne Possible of Colorado I Swear To God You Are So Fired After This!!" He cleared his throat and tried once more. "Dr. Anne Possible of Colorado!!"

Anne calmly strolled up to the stage and accepted her gift certificate. She was joined on stage by Kim, Jean, and Ron. While Kim did not want to stand next to the 'Smarty Mart' brain, she was proud to be on the other side of her mother for this achievement. Ron, on the other hand, was hamming it up by putting his arm around the corporate mascot for the group photo.

Leaving the stage, Anne's head began to dip slightly. Ron detected her sadness and decided a little 'Ron-shine' was in order. "Hey, there, Mrs. Dr. P." He beamed. "Don't go hanging your head about this. You beat out a whole bunch of people to take third, and you can do a lot of stuff with a thousand bucks at a place like Smarty Mart."

Jean nodded in agreement. "Anne, you may have graduated in the top _five_ percent of your class at the University of Upperton, but you were in the top _**two**_ percent of the competitors here…the top **_1.89873_** percent, to be more precise."

Kim, Anne, and Ron each gave Jean a bewildered stare at this mathematical revelation.

Jean smiled and shrugged, "What can I say? Anne, you're a top-notch neurosurgeon. Kim, you're a martial arts dynamo. Ron, you're a gourmet prodigy. Me? I'm a Lead Accountant for a 'Moolah 400®' corporation. _**That's**_ what _**I**_ do!"

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Ron experienced mixed emotions with the celebrity status he earned in the days following the contest. On the good side, he was named Middleton Middle School's 'Student of the Month' and was given the honor of planning the lunch menu for the second week in November. He also garnered the attention of a few girls seeking cooking tips…and maybe a little more. In addition to that, he received the full 100 extra-credit points for his essay on the experience.

The accomplishment even made Bonnie Rockwaller give a reluctant compliment. She grumbled, "I guess even a _**loser**_ has to get something right _once_ in his life."

There was, however, another side to this coin. For a boy to _compete_ in—much less _**win**_—a cooking contest meant the complete obliteration of Ron's masculine credibility in the eyes of his male classmates. It painted an even _**bigger**_ target on his back for the bullies, as if the probability of that even existed.

To make things worse, Kim wasn't as eager to help Ron fend off the extra attacks. Sure, she still 'had his back' if things got physical. That said, she didn't even flinch when she heard Bonnie's 'back-handed' compliment, even with the 'loser' reference that usually pushed her 'volcanic temper' button. For some reason, she was starting to feel a little strange about all the extra attention the other girls were giving him. As much as it seemed to be the case, she vehemently _**insisted**_ she was not jealous!

With a couple of weeks left before the national contest, the weather was dreary in Middleton. A mixture of rain and snow descending on a city that just shoveled itself out of the six inches of previous snowfall indicative of the first week of November in Colorado.

Sitting in his room that early Saturday afternoon, Ron was starting to feel unsure if he really wanted to compete after all. He was feeling pressure on many fronts…

…_**Pressure**_ from Mrs. Marlow—who wanted Ron to write another essay…

…_**Pressure**_ from some to win in Omaha—or not bother showing his face again…

…_**Pressure**_ from others to stay in Middleton—or not bother showing his face again, and…

…_**Pressure**_ from Ron's own mind—especially the memory of Janet Martin in the regional contest. Her attempt to become the national competition's first 'third generation' champion made him cringe. Her heritage alone was intimidating. The determined look on her face to crush any and all opposition made his blood run cold.

Ron would have normally asked Kim for her advice. This was not an option that day, as she and her family went to Denver for a Tae Kwon Do tournament. It was actually a short trip from Denver to Middleton. However, the Drs. P. agreed to stay the night as a guest of one of Anne's friends from college before going to church with her friend's family the following morning.

His parents were at the annual Middleton Business Expo downtown until just after dark. Donald represented his underwriting firm while Jean was placed in charge of her company's efforts as corporate sponsor of the event.

He could only sigh and rest his head in his hands. At this monumental crossroads in Ron Stoppable's life…

…_**he was truly alone.**_

He tried taking his mind off the rapidly-expanding pressure. He watched some TV, played a couple of video games, and even (gasp) finished his homework! It was to no avail…he was still as lost as before.

Despite the weather conditions outside, he felt the only way to clear his head was to ride his bike for a while. Although his previous bike was destroyed, some unidentified _Middleton Examiner_ subscribers read about his family's cycling tragedy the previous year. Out of the goodness of their hearts, they donated a new red bike, along with helmet and pads, in honor of his departed uncle, David.

He didn't want to worry his folks if they got home before he returned. To that end, he placed a note on the kitchen table, outlining his planned route, before he donned his gear and left for Middleton Park.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Although the rain and snow stung his face a little, he appreciated the lull in the wind. Because of the wintry conditions, he knew he wouldn't be bothered by too many distractions.

After a few minutes of enjoying the peace and quiet while sitting on the bench, Ron looked up and addressed the overcast sky. "Uncle Dave," he began, "I know you're up there somewhere. KP and her 'fam' are in Denver, the 'rents are still downtown, and I'm getting nothing from my imaginary friend, Rufus…

"I know you had a hand in that thing with the movie sign last month, and I need your help now more than ever. Half of the people I know want me to succeed, half of them want me to fail, and half of them want me to just stay home." After pausing a moment, his face crinkled a bit. "Not meaning to dis you, but yes…I _**know**_ that's too many halves—_**that's**_ part of the problem. I can't even think straight anymore!"

He took a deep breath and sighed, "Sometimes, I wish I never read that stupid announcement!"

Before Ron could say another word, he heard the sound of a car skidding into one of the snowy trenches left by the plows after clearing the vast majority of the streets. A moment later, there was the sound of a car spinning its wheels, desperately attempting in vain to escape its slushy confinement. Soon after that, a voice called from that general direction, "_**HELP!**_ I need some help here! Is somebody..._**anybody**_...out there?"

Ron's mind quickly turned away from his own troubles. Within ninety seconds, he navigated his bike around those same patches and rode over to the alley where the man was standing.

The car was pretty well stuck in the snowy rut. There were no other cars in front of it for at least 200 feet. Its back bumper was another story. Buried into the snow bank, it sat less than four feet from a tall picket fence.

The man spotted Ron and pleaded, "Oh, thank God you're here, kid. This thing is stuck pretty well in the drift, and my cell phone battery is dead. What's worse, I don't know my way around this part of town. Do you think you could ride over to a phone booth and call for a tow truck for me?"

Ron replied, "Sure thing, mister. Do you have a Triple-C card?"

The man pulled out his Continental Car Club® card and said, "My membership number is on the front."

Ron took the card and paused a moment. Finding the afrementioned number, but no name, he took a quick look at the accident victim. Seemingly uninjured, the man wore a flimsy windbreaker jacket over his polo shirt and dark slacks. The jacket was good for protection from the persistent breeze, but not the rain, snow, and dropping temperatures.

He looked toward the rear of the car once more. Catching a glimpse of its position in the snow, Ron sprung into action. He used his helmet as an impromptu shovel to carefully remove the drift away from the tailpipe.

He then turned to the man and explained, "Sir, that jacket won't keep you warm until help gets here. With the tailpipe clear, you can get inside, start the car, and safely run the heater while we wait for Triple-C."

Before the man could ask what Ron meant when he said 'while _**we**_ wait', the boy was on his way to the 'Maugham and Pope® Convenience Store & Newsstand', a few blocks away from the the car.

Twenty minutes later, Ron returned with a plastic bag tied to the front of his bike. Parking his bike to one side of the car, he grabbed the bag and climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

Ron joked, "I know I'm not supposed to get into the cars of strangers; but with your car stuck this bad, you're not going anywhere for a while anyway!"

After a shared moment of laughter, he opened the bag, distributed most of its contents and continued, "Triple-C said they should have somebody here in about a half-hour. Until then I thought I'd get some sandwiches. It's a good thing the microwaves at 'Maugham and Pope®' still work."

He then produced two bottles from the bag. "I also got some water to wash down the sandwiches. I would have brought some hot cocoa, but I knew the cups would spill. I don't know about _**you**_, but _**I**_ usually don't take **_my_** barbecue beef sandwich with marshmallows and extra foam."

A few more laughs ensued before the boy put out his hand and said, "By the way, my name's Ron Stoppable."

The man shook the proffered hand. "Ron, I'm Johnny Hoagland—and I want to thank you so much…not just for helping me with the phone call, but also for choosing _**my**_ food to knock out our hunger."

Ron's demeanor was modest. "It's no big. The 'Maugham and Pope®' store had the closest payphone and—" His eyes widened as the last part of the sentence registered. "Hold on a minute! _**THE**_ Johnny Hoagland…of _Hoagland's Hot Hoagies®?_"

The man smiled broadly and answered, "The one and only! I see you got the Double Griller® and the Homesteader®. Good choices, son. They will do quite nicely until the truck comes."

Johnny's face quickly changed to that of someone struggling to recall a remotely-placed fact. "Stoppable…Stoppable…Where have I heard that name?" His face registered a triumphant conclusion. "Hey! You're the kid who took the Rocky Mountain regional last month, right?"

Ron's features suddenly turned glum. "Guilty as charged, Mr. Hoagland!"

Johnny took notice of Ron's mood shift. "Two things, Ron. First, please...call me Johnny. _**All**_ my friends call me Johnny. Second, what's with the long face? You should be _proud_ of yourself. Something so simple yet intricate as that 'Seven Tiers of Bliss' parfait of yours is a work of sheer _**brilliance!**_"

Ron continued expressing his sadness. "Somehow, I don't really feel that proud or brilliant. In fact, I've got half a mind to chuck the whole thing and get back to my normal life."

"Normal?" Johnny scoffed. "_**Normal?**_ I remember a food critic at a convention a few years back, when I introduced the Homesteader® sandwich. He gave me the best piece of advice I've ever heard…

..._**'Never be normal!'..."**_

Those three words shook Ron to his core. His voice was weak and quivering. "Would that critic have been…David Stein?"

"Why…yes, Ron!" Johnny beamed. "How do _**you**_ know him?"

Ron stuttered, "H-h-he is…_was_…my uncle."

Ron proceeded to tell Johnny about the accident, its aftermath, and the 'taco-and-nacho combination' recipe.

Johnny gave Ron one of his napkins to dry the youth's flowing tears before he offered his own advice. "Ron, my boy, I was not much older than you when I came up with the StaySoft® roll. Its recipe is still used for the bread of every Hoagland's Hot Hoagie® sold today. Sure, I took a lot of ribbing for wanting to cook, but—" A thought occurred to him. "Say…do you ever watch 'The Cuisine Channel®'?"

Ron sniffed and weakly smiled. "Once in a while, when 'The Fearless Ferret' isn't on."

Johnny chuckled at the response. "Think about it for a moment, son…Emile LaPastrie, Bobby Q, Paul Pridehome, Sau Tei, Bo Yardhee, and Fry Casey. Sure, they have different styles; but what do all these great chefs have in common?"

Ron scratched his head in thought. "I'm sorry." He was completely befuddled. "You've lost me on that one."

Johnny placed his hands on Ron's shoulders and proclaimed, "Don't you see, Ron. They're all _**men**_…and from what I hear, there's not a sissy in the bunch. Given the right motivation, any _**one**_ of them can kick my behind from here to Go City and back. They'd probably grind _**you**_ into sawdust! No offense, kid."

Ron evenly clipped, "None taken."

Johnny continued, "Cooking is your talent. It's what you love. It's your freedom. It's your chance to the take the world by storm. This is your _one __**shot**_, my boy. Grab it while you can. I mean, just ask yourself this…Can you ever forgive yourself if you don't even _**try?**_"

Ron thought for a moment. "No," he concluded, "I guess I really can't."

Just then, the truck dispatched by Triple-C arrived. Johnny shook the boy's hand once more and said, "Thanks again, Ron…for the call, the sandwich, and the company."

Ron got out of the car and grinned. "They say a little 'Ron-shine' goes a long way."

He pedaled back home with sharper focus…and a new mission to accomplish! He pushed his bike into the garage just as his parents pulled into the driveway. Before they could get out of the car, Ron came up his folks and inquired, "Mom…Dad…Are you two up for some 'research'?"

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…To the average person, Ron's order at Taco Ringer® was a little strange…twelve soft-shell tacos, with nothing but meat and tortilla. If they followed his family over to Bueno Nacho, and then Burrito Barn®, they would have found it downright _**bizarre**_ for him to order the same thing at each of those establishments as well.

When the Stoppables finally returned to their home, Ron was firm but respectful when he asked his parents to leave the kitchen for a moment. Once he confirmed he was alone, he separated the bags by company. He then removed three resealable plastic bowls, each of a different color, and placed one in front of each set of bags. He recorded the bowl colors and their corresponding eateries on a corner of a page in his notebook.

Having established the 'chain of evidence', Ron took all the tacos from one restaurant and scraped the meat off the tortillas into the first bowl. He did the same thing with the other two sets of tacos and bowls. He then filled a fourth bowl with the emptied and rinsed tortillas.

Knowing that Kim and her family were returning from Denver the following afternoon, Ron had everything in place for Phase Two of his experiment…

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

The combined assemblage of the houses of Stoppable and Possible were bewildered as to why they were all sitting around the dining room table at Ron's house that Sunday evening. Their minds were only slightly eased when Ron assured them about the safety of this experiment—after Anne promised Ron the eight-year-old twins would be on their best behavior.

Minutes later, Ron wheeled out the serving cart his parents used for formal occasions. A large bowl of nacho chips, made from the discarded tortillas of the previous night, joined the three steaming bowls of taco meat, several pencils, and slips of paper for each person in attendance.

Ron' voice took a tone of authority as he addressed those seated around the table. "Thank you all for coming here tonight. I need your help in determining which of these samples of seasoned ground beef taste the best. Feel free to use as many chips as you like to dip into whichever bowls you wish. I just ask for three things. One…please write your choice, by its matching bowl color, onto one of these slips of paper. Two…be kind to others and don't 'double-dip' on the same chip…"

…This caused three young voices to cry, "_EEEWWWWW!!_" in unison, along with four adults to visibly cringe their faces in disgust...

"…and Three…" his voice became meek and plaintive, "…_please_ save some for me!"

Donald and Jean Stoppable, along with James, Anne, Kim, Jim, and Tim Possible, all snickered as they dug into the 'experiment'. After each one ate enough meat from the three bowls to form an opinion, they recorded their votes and placed the slips of paper into a nearby cookie jar.

Ron enjoyed a sandwich while he waited for the experiment fo be completed. After all seven 'test subjects' responded, Ron stood and regained his authoritative voice. "First, I want to thank you all once again for your help. Second…" he looked at the four empty bowls and half-whined, "…I _told_ you to save some for _**me!**_"

He led the group in laughing at that remark as he returned to his usual demeanor. "I'll count the votes."

He examined each slip of paper and recorded its vote next to the corresponding 'bowl designation' in his notebook.

A moment later, he approached both families. "Well, folks," he announced, "there was one vote for 'Hicka-Bicka-Boo', one vote for 'Hoosha'…"

Six sets of eyes, including Ron's, glared at a blushing Jim and Tim before he concluded, "…and five votes for our winner…_Bueno Nacho!_"

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…With a little more than a week before the trip to Omaha, Ron was more frustrated than ever. The competition rules called for every ingredient of a recipe to be specified. With the normal compliment of herbs and spices, Ron tried to perfect the mixture used by Bueno Nacho. His efforts were futile up to that point. After a sixth attempt, he ran out of ground beef to use.

Dejected, Ron decided to take his mind off cooking for a moment. He flipped on the television and watched some cartoons. After three or four different versions of the same 'cat and mouse' scenario, he grew tired of the monotony.

His mind recalled the conversation with Johnny Hoagland. Out of curiosity, he switched over to 'The Cuisine Channel®'. Standing behind a kitchen counter was an enormously-muscular man dressed all in white. He was waving his hands to quell the latest round of applause from the studio audience.

The man boomed, "Welcome back to 'Bobby Q Grills'…"

Jean Stoppable overheard the TV and squealed, "_OHMIGOSH!_ Is that _**Bobby Q?**_"

She rushed to join her son on the couch. Confirming her suspicions, her face resembled that of a love-struck teenager as she purred, "Ooooh, he has not changed a bit!"

Ron looked at his mother and sputtered, "Y-You…know…him?"

A dreamy look glazed Jean's eyes. "Oh sure, Ronnie. He and I were in the same 'Culinary Arts' class at the University of Colorado. He was a freshman, taking the course as part of his major…I took it as an elective in my last semester before I graduated."

She took a deep breath and sighed, "We had so much fun in that class, it made me love cooking all over again. I swear…if your father and I weren't already engaged, Bobby Q here could have ended up being your dad."

Ron wildly waved his arms. "Whoa, Mom…_**TMI squared!!**_"

Jean giggled, "Of course, dear. I still watched his show a lot when I was on maternity leave, carrying you. I wonder if he continues to use that catchphrase we worked up in class?"

As if on cue, Bobby gave his next instruction. "I'm gonna add another pinch of oregano, just to **_crank it up a level…_**"

"_**BOO-YEAH!!**_" Bobby, the audience, and Jean shouted all at once.

Jean gave her stunned offspring a wicked smirk. "_**Still **_wonder where you got that from, Ronnie?"

Ron began to pick up his jaw from the floor while Bobby shouted, "We'll be right back!"

Even while Ron was recovering from his mother's college story, the screen blessed him with a grand epiphany…

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Coming next week...**_

_...A word from our sponsor, the birth of a legend, and the exciting(?) conclusion..._

_**...Hey, you've come this far!** _

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Author's ending notes:**_

The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the** _constructive_** feedback of its readers. If you like it, I will gladly make more. If you think of ways to make it better, I am always open to suggestions. If you really think it's a piece of garbage, stop me before I strike again!!

Once more, _**Review me, e-mail me if you wanna reach me! When you want to 'PM' me, it's ok!**_

Your friend in writing,

The Samurai Crunchbird®


	4. A Legend is Born

_**My standard KP disclaimer:**_

I know Disney owns "Kim Possible"...lock, stock, and Rufus.

If they want to sue me, they have to get behind all my other creditors.

Since I am in south Florida, the line has formed to the right

…and goes all the way to Sacramento!

**_If a name has an ®, I own it. If it doesn't, I don't!_**

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_**Opening notes:**_

**1)** Since most of the previous 'ch-**RON**-icles' were only one or two chapters in length, I did not have the opportunity to thank all the loyal readers (_**both **of you!_) who took time out of their busy schedules to read and review these installments. **I especially wish to thank **_**Mengsk, ****screaming phoenix, Captain IT, Kwebs, kaiokken, and CajunBear73**_** for their 'Chapter Three' reviews.**

**2)** _Today is a milestone date in my FanFiction 'career' (as it were, since we don't get paid or anything)...With this chapter, I have placed over 200,000 words on FanFiction for your reading enjoyment(?)._

_Sure...for many of you, that figure is probably mere 'chump change' (except for those who always write about monkey powers...in which case you would consider this 'chimp change'). Still, **I** consider it to be a great milestone, and appreciate all the support I have received in my first 11 months with FanFiction._

**3)** In addition to these _'ch-**RON**-icles'_, I have been 'beta-reader/story editor' for 'When Heroes Fall' since its third chapter. With the release of Chapter 37 this weekend, **_snapbang_** has written an epic story that is fast approaching its conclusion. While it **_is_** rated 'T' for violence and language, I encourage those who are comfortable with such items to read it (and maybe send a review). That is, _**after**_ you are done here!

For now, let's just sit back and…

**Enjoy the show!**

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

'_ch-__**RON**__-icles:__** American Dream**'_

**_Chapter Four: A Legend is Born_**

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…_For Marla Kildow, Robert Leigh, Holly Nielson, and Pat Hunter…_

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

...Even while Ron was recovering from his mother's college story, the screen blessed him with a grand epiphany…

_**-- -- -- --**_

_…A family was gathering around a table with a dull casserole of unknown origin as its centerpiece._

_The faces of the family members were glum as an 'off-screen' announcer droned…_

_"**Tired of the same boring dinner every night?**"_

_…All four members of the family nodded before the announcer's voice brightened…_

_"**Now you can bring the great taste of 'Tex-Mex' to YOUR hacienda…**_

_**with the new 'Bueno Nacho' line of spices, tortillas, chips, and sauces.**"_

_…A hand points to different toppings and basic ingredients…_

_"**Just add your own ground beef, cheese, and fresh toppings…**_

_**and you have a fiesta for the whole family!**"_

_The same people from the 'dull casserole' scene smiled at this point._

_They wore ponchos and oversized sombreros,_

_similar to those serving as roofs for virtually every Bueno Nacho location worldwide,_

_as they shouted in unison…_

_"**¡MUY BUENO!**"_

_…The next scene shows another hand pointing to various products,_

_emblazoned with the Bueno Nacho logo…_

_"**There's nacho cheese, salsa, hard shells, soft flour tortillas,**_

_**nacho chips, seasoning for the perfect taco meat, and even…**"_

_…Yellow and orange flames engulfed the screen as flaming red letters pounced in front of them._

_The announcer's voice lowered and reverberated with a deep echo…_

_"…**DIABLO SAUCE!!**"_

_…The screen returns to an 'all inclusive' shot of the entire product line,_

_with various fiesta decorations festooned behind them._

_Words above the products, in stylized letters, echoed the next line from the announcer…_

_…"**Make ANY day a 'Muy Bueno' Day!**"…_

_…The announcer's voice was subdued for the commercial's last line…_

_…"**Another fine product from Triple-M Unity®.**"…_

**_-- -- -- --_**

…Jean and Ron exchanged a knowing grin. She grabbed her car keys and offered, "One more experiment, Ronnie?"

Ron's smile grew wider as he agreed. "Mom, it's time to crank it up a level…"

They shouted once more, in unison…_"**BOO-YEAH!!**"_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…Now that Ron knew of the Bueno Nacho line of products, he could have just as easily listed them as ingredients in the recipe he would use for the competition. Of course, he thought the judges would frown on such a 'shortcut' being used by most cooks.

Unlike most cooks, however, Ron possessed a secret weapon…

_…two eight-year-old geniuses who owed him…**BIG time!**_

Ron did not encounter any resistance from their older sister or their parents, once they were reminded of the previous voting debacle. In fact, the woman he lovingly called 'Mrs. Dr. P.' **insisted** on having the boys use their 'Molecular Sorter' to separate the ingredients contained in the packet of 'Bueno Nacho' Taco Seasoning.

In less than an hour, Jim and Tim Possible isolated every ingredient by proportion and content. With the exception of a few trace items used merely as preservatives, the formula was much simpler than Ron ever anticipated.

Despite all the support from the Possible family, Ron felt a little guilty. Sure, the twins and 'Mrs. Dr. P.' were a big help. Even 'Mr. Dr. P.' provided a little assistance with powering the 'Molecular Sorter'. Ron still had an ache in his heart at the thought of excluding Kim, his best friend in the whole world, from all of this.

Thankfully, 'Mr. Dr. P.' provided a solution. Despite Kim's lack of ability in the kitchen, she used her mathematical skills to reduce the tortilla recipes normally written for much larger quantities. Through her efforts in division, the measurements aligned themselves to the creation of the six flour and six corn tortillas he needed for his recipe.

Of course, all of this assistance came at a price. In exchange for their help, Ron had to follow his new recipe and make the first batch for them. At least he **did** save one for himself this time!

Being the inventor of this creation, Ron had the honor of the first taste. Since his family was not Orthodox in their Jewish faith, he had no worries about the 'non-kosher' status of the dish. After taking one bite, he thanked God for His leniency.

As a special touch for her best friend, Kim also used a word-processing program to print clear copies of the final recipe. The resulting documents would be a far cry better than the hand-written recipe Ron submitted for the regional competition.

Kim made one more fateful contribution of her own, if only by accident. After the body of the recipe was typed and set properly in place, she began using different fonts to highlight the name of the recipe, 'Nacho-Taco'.

Ron took one look at the printed copy…_and hugged the living **stuffing** out of her!_

With such a display of affection…_especially_ in front of her parents, Kim was dumbfounded. "Ron…Thanks for the hug and everything…but what is the _**sitch?**_"

Ron held the printed recipe and broadly smiled. "KP, don't you see it? Your typo has turned a great recipe into culinary history!"

Kim's face grew annoyed at this comment._ "**Typo?**_ Ron, what are you talking about?"

Ron quickly pointed to the recipe's title. During her font experiment, a slip of her fingers inadvertently deleted some of the characters in the middle of the name just before printing the copies. Ron's jubilation was triggered by the recipe's new one-word title…

_…'**NACO**'**!!**_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…Hundreds of people gathered at Middleton International Airport to wish Ron success in the competition. The itinerary for the Stoppables was quite simple…fly to Omaha on Thursday, plan everything on Friday, compete on Saturday, and return on Sunday.

Because of the scheduled timeframe, such travelling would normally cost a lot of money, especially short-notice flight booking, rental car, and hotel accommodations. Thankfully, Ron and his parents had a couple of things going in their favor. As Rocky Mountain champion, Agri-Con® paid for the flight. As brother, sister-in-law, and nephew of Sarah Stoppable Stein, they had a place to stay, ground transportation in the city, and time to fawn over her infant son, Aaron.

Kim volunteered to take notes and keep track of assignments until he returned. His sadness about making up the assignments was completely obliterated by another hug and forehead kiss from Kim, although she insisted it was once again just 'for luck'. His mind, of course, didn't clear out of its fog until the plane had already reached its cruising altitude...

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

...Sarah and Aaron met her brother, his wife, and her nephew at Omaha's Eppley Airfield. When they reached her house, they caught up on everything that happened since their last visit during Ron's 'Spring Break'.

The conversation soon turned to the upcoming contest. Sarah turned to Ron and asked, "I know David was the food critic, but he gave me a few pointers on the subject. Could I see that recipe of yours?"

Ron obliged and handed her a copy. After a quick scan of the ingredients, her face became bright. She wondered, "What time do you compete on Saturday?"

Ron thought for a moment. "We're supposed to report to the arena by 1:00. How come?"

Sarah's response was strangely vague. "Oh," she snickered, "you'll see."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…Friday morning found Sarah, Aaron, and the Stoppables in the middle of historic South Omaha. Sarah was careful to have Donald remain in the car with Aaron as she took Jean and Ron into a small store on 24th Street. It was not meant to slight Donald's cooking abilities. She just knew Jean and Ron would be more interested in what she had to show them. Besides, she couldn't think of a more responsible person to keep an eye on her baby than her big brother.

When they walked inside the Hispanic grocery store, Sarah explained, "Shortly after our honeymoon, David made burritos from scratch, all the way down to the freshly-made tortillas. He said he got many of his ingredients here, because they receive fresh shipments of flour, spices, and seasonings straight from Mexico every other week."

Ron sniffed some of the spice packets. "_Mmm-**MMM!**_ You sure can't get more authentic than this!"

Sarah grinned, "That's why I brought you here. We still have to get the refrigerated items and cooking oil down at the Vee-Hi® supermarket just before we get to the arena tomorrow; but we can load up on most of the other supplies here."

After they made their purchases, Sarah took the rest of the day to show them around her adopted city. Because of the strong roots her late husband had in Omaha, his family welcomed her into their home with open arms after his tragic passing. Actually, they considered her part of their family from the day David introduced her to them over a decade ago.

Jean was spellbound by the masterpieces at the Joslyn Art Museum. She was also touched by the exhibits at the birthplaces of two polarizing figures in her younger days…Gerald Ford and Malcolm X.

Donald was fascinated by the tour of the Berkshire Hathaway headquarters. Thanks to some influence from Sarah's former in-laws, the family even had a thirty-minute meeting with Warren Buffet himself.

In the afternoon, they visited the Henry Doorly Zoo. Donald kept himself occupied in the aviary and aquatic sections of the facility, given his allergy to all kinds of fur.

Ron loved the polar bears, penguins, and even the llamas. His only 'low-light' of the day happened when they drew close to a deep, enclosed pit filled with…

"_AAAACKK!! **MONKEYS!!**_" Ron screamed as only the screen prevented him from being pelted by…something…one of the simians flung at him. From the smell of the…substance, his thankfulness for the screen was multiplied tenfold.

His legs kept running past the lions, past the elephants, past the tigers, and even past the zebras. He only stopped when he collided with an information sign. He rose up from that sign to see over a dozen pink faces curiously looking at him from the other side of a screen. It was as if _they_ were the ones visiting an exhibit of **_him_** in _**his**_ natural habitat.

Sarah, Aaron, and Jean rejoined Ron as he rose to read the sign describing these curious creatures…

_Heterocephalus glaber_

_**Naked Mole Rat**_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…The next morning, they completed the necessary shopping at Vee-Hi® before proceeding downtown to Omaha's Civic Auditorium. Ron was astounded at the spectacle of it all.

The floor of the building's south end, designated as the 'Auditorium Arena', was filled with 100 individual kitchen stations. Red-white-and-blue place cards marked ninety-six of those stations. The other four stations were staggered throughout the four rows of twenty-five posts, serving as backups in case there were any issues with a station's appliances.

The stations were similar to those used in the regional competition. However each station had its own full-size Flashpoint® refrigerator and two shelves containing virtually every pan known to mankind. This made things easier for each contestant to access the items they needed. For so much prize money, every second counted.

The north end of the building lived up to its 'Exhibition Hall' moniker, as it took on the atmosphere of a county fair. Booths lined the entire area, featuring everything from kitchen equipment to restaurants offering franchise opportunities.

Ron would have loved to experience everything offered at these booths. However, he had ingredients to sort, pans to arrange…

…_**and a promise to keep.**_

Jean and Ron double-checked everything before the official start of the contest. Jean would remind her son of the item, and he made sure it was where it was supposed to be...

"_**Got your backpack?**__"_

_"Check."_

_"**Cold items in the refrigerator?**"_

_"Check."_

_"**Bowls and mixers in place?**"_

_"Check."_

_"**Chainsaw fully gassed?**"_

_"Ch—**WHAT??**"_

_"**Just making sure you were still with me…All the pans within reach?**"_

_"Check."_

_"**Easy access to measuring cups and spoons?**"_

_"Check."_

_"**Oil and dry ingredients properly arranged?**"_

_"Check."_

_"**Got your 'good luck charms'?**"_

_"Mom, that wasn't even funny the first time you did it."_

_"**I'm serious, Ronnie…Look in your backpack!**"_

Ron followed his mother's instructions. There, in the front compartment, was a manila envelope, with a full sheet of paper providing instructions…

"**_To Ron, With L— Luck_…**(The first 'L' word was hastily scribbled into oblivion and substituted with the second)**…_Place the smaller slip of paper in your left shirt pocket, pink side inward, so that it is close to your heart. After that, wrap the other item through your belt loops and tie it tight. We don't you to show your boxers on national TV…Ha-ha…When you do this, I'll be there for you…Your best friend, Kim._**"

Ron examined the smaller piece of paper. What struck him as weird was the 'pink side' as Kim described it. The only thing pink on that side was an impression of a set of…_lips?_ Ron thought it was strange for Kim to waste so much of her favorite shade of lipstick just to mark a silly piece of paper. Still, he was her best friend…and was glad she had his back for this.

Successfully placing the paper into his pocket (_in the right direction, thank-you-very-much_), he removed the other item from the manila envelope. It was the black belt Kim earned the day before the victory that earned his place here.

He had just enough time to finish tying the belt around his waist and donning his apron when he heard the competition's traditional countdown…

"…_Three_…

…_**Two**_…

…_**One**_…

…_**COOK!!**_"

Because this recipe required substantially more work than the 'Seven Tiers of Bliss' recipe from the regional contest, Ron worked harder than even his mother had ever seen. It took every second of those two hours to make the tortillas, melt the cheddar cheese and chop the jalapeño peppers for the nacho sauce, fry the freshly-made corn tortillas for the nacho chips, brown and season the ground beef, chop the tomatoes and onions, shred the lettuce and taco cheese, and wrap all of these ingredients into the six flour tortillas.

A few times along the way, Ron turned toward the station next to him. It was occupied by Janet Martin, the one who sought to follow in the footsteps of her mother and grandmother as national champions of the '_Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®_'.

It wasn't his nervousness that forced Ron's attention in that direction, though. A familiar scent was wafting from her station. That aroma made him think of a house hundreds of miles away from here, yet little more than a half-mile from his own home. It was the smell of good times…of life-long friendship just begging to grow into something more…of—**_no_**…that just wasn't **_Possible_**…

Thankfully, Jean's timeframe reminders every few minutes kept Ron's head in the game. Otherwise, he would have never finished in time.

As Ron finished lifting the ends of each the stuffed flour tortillas and securing them with a 'flour-water' mixture, he heard the audience chant…

"…Five…

…_Four_…

…_**Three**_…

…_**Two**_…

…_**ONE**_…"

A 140-decibel air horn signaled the end of the competition...

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

...Ron was thankful each category had its own set of judges. With two entrants from each of the eight regions, the 'Junior' category only had sixteen competitors. That meant he knew the judges would taste his creation while it was still piping hot.

What struck Ron as odd, however, was the number of other people who drifted from one set of judges to another. A few times, he saw one or two of those people hand some sort of card to a contestant. This made him really wonder…Was that card a warning? An 'Honorable Mention' prize? Some notes on how to improve a recipe?

All of these questions raced through his mind when his father, wearing an official 'Parent' security badge, joined Jean and Ron. Placing his souvenir program on the counter, he walked over and gave them a big hug.

"Ronald," he smiled, "no matter what happens with the judging, I want you to know just how proud of you we really are."

Since Donald was looking after Aaron each time everybody else went shopping, he reviewed the recipe and asked, "So…which of these ingredients did you get from the Agri-Con® table for this one, son?"

Ron's eyes grew wider than the griddles he used to cook the tortillas. The sound of four screeching tires echoed in his mind. He racked his brain in reviewing every ingredient on the list. When he discovered his answer, he could only hang his head in shame.

His voice was nearly a whisper. "I'm sorry, Dad. I…I…I got _nothing!_"

All three Stoppables knew the judges, openly on the payroll of Agri-Con®, would not look favorably on a dish made without using any ingredients made by Agri-Con®. Ron's remark in the recipe notes allowing substitution of the meat seasoning with 'Bueno Nacho' Taco Seasoning was of no help, either. That brand was made by the chief rival of Agri-Con®, Triple-M Unity®.

Ron began cleaning his counter when he noticed an advertisement on one of the open pages of his father's souvenir program. It mentioned a new brand of cooking oil called Lite-Fry®. He turned his head toward the other end of the counter and found his salvation.

"Mom! Dad!" He gasped. "The oil…It's Lite-Fry®!!"

Jean and Donald had not quite understood why that made Ron so happy until he showed them the ad in the program. This led to another group-hug as the judges approached their station.

During the visit from the judges, they sampled the finished product before taking another look at the recipe. One of the judges gave Ron a wary look before the boy indicated the cooking oil. The judge smiled, nodded, and remarked, "Good choice, son. We only released it two weeks ago. There wasn't even any available at the Agri-Con® tent."

Ron played it smooth at this point…well, as smooth as Ron _could_ play things. "Well, you guys did right by me with the 'new and improved' Yippy® peanut butter you launched at the regional contest last month. I figured you wouldn't fail me _**here**_…with so much on the line and all!"

While the judges bought his explanation hook-line-and-sinker, another gentleman stood behind the judges. The smirk on this man's face saw right through Ron's attempt to 'appease the corporate machine'. Even so, he sampled one of the two remaining servings not touched by the four judges. Within seconds, the man quickly consumed the rest of it. After a moment to drink some of his bottled water, he took Donald to one side. The two men talked away from everybody else for a moment before the man gave Donald a card and shook his hand.

Once the judges left Ron's station, he and Jean quickly turned to Donald. Ron's earlier paranoia stood 'front-and-center' in his mind. He warily asked, "Dad, what did that man want to talk about…and why did he give you that card?"

Before Donald could answer, the announcer's voice demanded everybody's attention. Thankfully, this one was a lot more professional than the 'teleprompter reject' that emceed the regional contest…

"_Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have reached their decisions. It's time to announce the winners in the 'Junior' category. These 16 kids defeated over 700 others in the eight regional competitions just to get here. Let's give them a round of applause."_

…Some of the contestants waved to members of the audience as the crowd showed their support. Ron was no exception, giving a big wave to Aunt Sarah in the stands and a smaller 'baby wave' to little Aaron…

"_Our 'Third Place' winner will receive 100,000 dollars, which will be put into a trust until the winner turns 21 years of age. That winner is…from the 'Great Plains' region…__**17-year-old Anna Blanton of Nebraska!**__"_

…Since the contest was held in that state, it was natural for many of those in attendance to voice their approval while the rest of the audience politely applauded. In short order, the girl and her father came up to the stage, accepted the trophy and the oversized 'publicity check', and posed for pictures with 'Morselle', the mascot for the contest. They left the stage as the announcer continued reading the results...

"_Our 'Second Place' winner will receive 200,000 dollars, which will be put into a trust until the winner turns 21 years of age. That winner is…from the 'Southeast' region…__**16-year-old Miguel Matteo of Florida!**__"_

…A petite Hispanic female was led to the stage by what some mistook for a mountain. If a person did not hear the name called, they would have assumed this person was the parent, and the female was the winner. As the situation stood, the 'mountain' was actually Miguel, leading his diminutive mother to the stage.

While Miguel and his mother completed the prize-acceptance ritual, Ron leaned close to his parents and muttered, "I'd like to see those jerks back home call _**him**_ a sissy!"

The announcer slowly moved back to the podium, but only after he made sure Miguel didn't eat him first…

"_Our 'National Champion' will receive 500,000 dollars, which will be put into a trust until the winner turns 21 years of age. In addition to that, they will be invited to judge next year's 'Junior' category contestants. The 'Junior' winner of the 100__th__ Agri-Con® American Bake-Off® is…from the 'Rocky Mountain' region…__**15-year-old Janet Martin of Utah!**__"_

The entire auditorium erupted in cheers as Janet, her mother, and her grandmother gracefully sashayed onto the stage. With an air of royalty, she enjoyed the spoils of her 'claim to fame' as the first 'third-generation' winner in the history of the Agri-Con® American Bake-Off®...

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

...After all the shouting and hoopla subsided, Donald and his sister, Sarah, helped Ron finish cleaning his kitchen station. Sarah figured it was Jean's turn to spend some time with Baby Aaron. A few minutes into this activity, Jean asked Sarah for her diaper bag.

Donald snarked, "It doesn't look like he's leaking in the front. He must have left an '_**Agri-Con®**_' if he needs to be changed!"

Sarah slapped him and shot back in mock-disgust, "Why, big brother…If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were accusing the corporate sponsor of 'playing favorites' with those who mostly use their own products."

Donald flashed an evil grin, "Well, sis…If it _looks_ like a dirty diaper, _feels_ like a dirty diaper, and _**smells**_ like a dirty diaper, chances are…it's _**usually**_ full of—"

"_**Sooo**_, honey…" Jean quickly interjected. "You never _**did**_ tell us what that other man wanted."

Donald explained, "That was a representative from one of the national restaurant chains. Since they bought a booth out front, they were given permission to lay claim to one or two 'first-chance' offers to buy the rights to certain dishes. The man _**loved**_ Ronald's recipe. He said he wanted to put it on the regular menu by late December, if we give our approval."

Ron froze in place. "_**MY**_ 'Naco'? Somebody actually wants to put _**MY**_ 'Naco' on _**THEIR**_ menu? Man…I'd give **_ANYTHING_** for that to happen!"

Donald gave a knowing glance. "I was thinking more like _they_ give _**us**_ a little something…say, a nickel per unit?"

Ron was still in a daze. His mind was too busy imagining the Naco's place in culinary history to comprehend his father's last statement.

Jean begged, "Donnie, don't keep us in suspense…who _is_ it?"

Donald's smile grew bigger as he took the card out of his pocket. "Oh, I think you've heard of them."

He flipped the card so Sarah, Jean and Ron could finally see its printing…

"_**BUENO NACHO**_

'_Have a Muy Bueno day!'_

_--__**BN**__--_

_**Alfredo Bueno**_

_Founder and CEO_"

Ron nearly squealed like a schoolgirl. "Mr. Bueno..._**himself**_...loved my 'Naco'?"

Jean smirked, "Well, 'Little Ronnie'…it looks Fate is about to take your life and crank it up a level…

The nearly-empty Civic Auditorium reverberated with the echoes of four triumphant voices screaming at the top of their lungs…

"_**BOO**__**-YEAH!!**_"

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_Author's ending…_

_**NOT SO FAST, Everybody!!**_

**We still have ONE 'loose end' to resolve…**

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**_…YEARS LATER…_**

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…Ron was home on summer break from college, watching five-year-old Hana Stoppable…at least the best he could, considering the rapid development of her ninja skills while he was away from home. Thankfully, he had the assistance of his best friend…turned girlfriend…turned fiancé…to keep the child from dishing out a Lorwardian level of destruction on the house.

While Ron, Kim and Hana were watching the season finale of _'Flippies: The Series'_, there was a knock on the door. Ron opened it to find a United Parcel Delivery® driver in his usual khaki-colored safari shirt and cargo shorts. The man held a box on a dolly that was nearly as tall as Hana.

The delivery driver's voice was monotone. "Package for Ron Stoppable…Will you si—" His eyes grew wide when he recognized Ron and Kim. "_Holy **Moses!**_ You're 'Team Possible'!" He raised one hand. "Hang on a moment. I'll be right back."

Leaving the box and dolly in place, the driver ran back to his truck and pulled out a felt-tip marker and a plush toy. He returned to the doorway and said, "First, to make things official, I need you to sign for this package."

Once Ron completed the task, the driver held up the plush toy and begged, "Now, could you and Kim please autograph my daughter's 'MonkeyFox'? It would mean the world to her."

The 'MonkeyFox' CuddleBuddy was specifically designed in honor of Team Possible, reflecting Kim's 'blue fox' mentality and Ron's glowing-blue Mystical Monkey Power. Having the head and tail of a fox, along with the body of a monkey, the blue 'MonkeyFox' sparked a new generation of Cuddlers, and renewed interest in the hobby in general.

Fortunately, the tag on the 'MonkeyFox' provided enough room for both Kim and Ron to affix their autographs. The driver shook both their hands and gushed, "Thank you so much. You've just made the day of a very precious little girl."

Ron began, "Oh, it was"

"No big!" Kim continued. "We're just"

"Glad to help." Ron finished.

The driver's head went back and forth during those sentences. He reclaimed his clipboard, pen, dolly, and 'MonkeyFox' before walking away from the door. As he put those items back into the truck, he muttered, "Man…That 'Humans' article was right. They _**do**_ complete each other's thoughts!"

Ron suspiciously eyed the package for a moment, until he caught the address…

_**AGRI-CON®**_

**1513 N 16th Street**

**Omaha NE 68110**

…He quickly opened the box to find an envelope atop a layer of 'packing peanuts'. His parents were pulling into the driveway as Ron opened the envelope. Out of the envelope, he removed a check, a strange-looking pin, and the following letter…

**"Dear Mr. Stoppable,**

**I hope this letter finds you well on your 21st birthday. With the contents of this envelope, we are living up to our end of the agreement made with your parents after the 100th Agri-Con® American Bake-Off.**

**As you may recall, Janet Martin was disqualified for her entry in the national competition. Her 'CrownLoaf' recipe was determined to be a differently-sculpted version of one she stole from a 'Dr. Anne Possible', who used it to make a 'BrainLoaf' in the regional competition…"**

…Ron muttered in thought, _'I **knew **I recognized that smell from somewhere! I probably would've read the headlines this thing generated it I didn't have to do all that stinkin' extra homework.'_

His eyes returned to the letter…

**"Due to her disqualification, we attempted to award the grand prize to our second place winner, Miguel Matteo. He refused, claiming the 200,000 dollars he was set to receive for second place caused too much unrest in his family as it was.**

**We then offered the prize to our third place winner, Anna Blanton. She refused because of her faith. Just after she turned 18, she took a vow of poverty and joined a Philadelphia convent to become a nun.**

**Thankfully, as a contingency plan, we kept a ranking of the top-ten finishers in each competition. With you being the fourth-ranked competitor, this box contains your championship trophy, your 'Morselle®' pin, a standing invitation to judge any one of our future competitions, and your check for 500,000 dollars.**

**We wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors.**

**Sincerely,**

(signature scrawled on the page)

**Rod Gary**

**President and CEO**

**Agri-Con® Corporation"**

Barely noticing his parents next to him, Ron was in shock. "I _won_…**KP, I** _**WON!!**_" He rushed up to Kim and gave her a Diablo-powered kiss before turning to his parents and complaining, "Why didn't you _**tell**_ me I won?"

Jean Stoppable held the pin and check while giving Ron a knowing smile.

Ron groaned, "Let me guess…This_** is**_ your way of telling me, right?"

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Are we getting that predictable?"

Ron replied, "Pretty much, yeah."

Donald explained, "Son, Agri-Con® came to us just before the following year's contest and made us an offer. We would accept the prize, and you would accept the title from that day forward, if we made no statements to the press about the whole thing."

Jean added, "Ronnie, we weren't sure of the Naco's success when it first debuted. We had no _**idea**_ it would become enough of a success to have saved the whole Bueno Nacho restaurant chain on several occasions."

Donald continued, "I know you took a lot of grief from some of your classmates for winning the regional contest. We didn't want you getting hurt any worse than you already were."

He gave an apologetic glance toward Ron's fiancé. "We knew Kim would help you through any bullying; but I'm sure she would agree the easiest fight to win is one that could be avoided completely."

Receiving a silent nod from Kim, Jean concluded, "I guess you could say we simply 'had your back', son."

Ron removed the trophy from the box and placed it on the fireplace mantle. He then carefully placed the 'Morselle®' pin on Kim's shirt and gave her another quick kiss.

He noticed his mother and father each holding one of Hana's arms and wiping away the stray tears of pride with their other hands. Kim clutched the pin as if it were her own heart.

A tranquil, heavenly silence enveloped the room for a moment before Ron blurted, "Well, what are we waiting for? We can't have the 'guest of honor' late for his own party, can we?"

While everybody filed out toward Jean's minivan, Ron leaned close to Donald and muttered, "Be sure to bring the checkbook."

Donald stopped for a moment. "But they said the party was 'on the house', son."

Ron flashed his trademark goofy grin. "No…I mean _**THE**_ checkbook!"

Donald gave him a wary look. "You're not going to go all 'gangster' on us again, are you?"

Ron chuckled, "That's '_**gangsta**_', Dad…'_**gangsta**_', and I assure you, my intentions are quite noble."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

…Most young men would choose to spend their 21st birthdays either enjoying a beer at a sporting event with friends or buying a round of drinks for complete strangers at a corner bar.

Of course, Ron Stoppable was not your ordinary 21-year-old! With all the thousands of options available to a world-saving, super-powered, red-blooded man such as himself, Ron and his 'child-like wonder' could only think of _**one**_ place to celebrate with those nearest to his heart…

_**…JP Bearymore's Pizza Party-Torium!!**_

Ron was originally saddened, but understood when some of his friends were unable to attend. Wade had been stuck in Washington, overhauling and updating the Pentagon's entire computer system. Felix and Zita were taking summer classes back at the college and were unable to come back in time. Monique was in New York, getting ready for the release of her first 'fall collection'.

Still, it was nice to have both Possible and Stoppable households in attendance. As a matter of pride in such customer loyalty, the entire party was compliments of the Pizza Party-Torium. Jim and Tim Possible, along with their dates, made the most of the free pizza. Hana and Rufus (_**not**_ the imaginary one) rewrote the 'high scores' of every game in the building. Both sets of parents were simply glad they wouldn't have to worry about their oldest children, now both of legal drinking age, driving home drunk.

When the both families began to leave, Ron looked at both of his parents and said, "Mom…Dad…If you want to take Hana outside, I'll join you in a moment."

Once he got affirming nods from both of them, he put one arm each on both of Kim's parents. He had a twinkle in his eye as he asked, "Could I talk to you two for a minute? If you want, KP could listen in. It also affects her…to a minor extent."

Dr. Anne Possible replied, "Of course, Ron." She turned to Jim and Tim. "Boys, go ahead and drive your dates home. We'll meet you back at the house, alright?"

"Thanks, Mom." The twins assured her in unison.

Ron led Kim and her parents over to a secluded table, near the corner of the restaurant.

"Mrs. Dr. P.," Ron began, "I just want to—"

"Ron," she interrupted, "you're going to marry my daughter soon. Please…call me 'Anne', okay?"

"Same thing with calling me 'James', Ronald." Her husband added.

Ron smiled broadly, "Of course, Anne…James. I really want to thank you both for being a second set of parents to me all these years."

Anne giggled, "Oh, honestly…it was—"

Ron finished, "No big. I know. What **_WAS_** big was the dent on your retirement fund caused by all those times you and Mr. Dr. P. had pay for what insurance didn't cover to keep fixing your house. From what I remember, rebuilding after the Lorwardian attack nearly drove the two of you into bankruptcy."

Kim spoke up at this point, "So…what's the sitch, Ron?"

Ron pulled out the letter from Agri-Con® and responded, "KP, the American Bake-Off® title was won using your mom's bon-diggety 'Brainloaf' recipe. My mom did some quick math, and said if that 500 'G's would have been invested in a growth fund for your mom and dad's retirement over the last nine years, a good financial planner would have gotten a 20 percent return, compounded annually. Okay…probably 14 or 15 percent…but 20 percent is such a nice, round number."

He pulled out another slip of paper and handed it to the woman beside her. "Mrs. Dr. P…Anne…Rounded to the nearest dollar, I believe this rightfully belongs to you."

He handed Anne a check drawn on his Naco royalties for 2,579,890 dollars.

She showed James the check and they both rushed to give Ron a hug. After a moment, Anne pulled back from the hug and tried to return the check. "Ron," she argued, "I can't accept this. You've kept my Kimmie safe all these years, which is more than **_any_** money could ever buy."

Ron countered, "Now, Anne…this is where I get to say it was 'no big'. It's the least I can do. Besides, that's less than a year's interest on the Naco royalties."

Kim agreed, "It was _**your**_ recipe she stole, you know. Consider this 'justice being served'."

James raised an eyebrow. "Less than a year's interest, huh?"

Ron chirped, "A-Yup-Yup! But don't worry…All of you showed me how to 'do the right things' with that money, and not blow it like I tried to do before."

Kim smirked, "Well, then…I guess _**one**_ of us doesn't have to worry about student loans anymore!"

All four of them shared one more laugh at that remark.

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_Okay…**NOW** it's over!_

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_**Author's ending notes:**_

I swear…this thing was supposed to be only one…maybe two chapters at the longest. It just turned into 'Plot-Zilla' and began ravaging the countryside of my mind until it was finally eliminated. _**Now I know how Tokyo felt!!**_

In all seriousness, I really did have a blast putting all this together by gathering research on how to make tortillas from scratch…and by providing a loose plot link between 'Uncle David' and 'Lunch Lessons'. I hope you enjoyed the ride as well.

_**Please watch for new 'ch-RON-icles' as they come down the line.**_

**_The next one is scheduled to be released in two weeks._**

The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the _**constructive**_ feedback of its readers. If you like it, I will gladly make more. If you think of ways to make it better, I am always open to suggestions. If you really think it's a piece of garbage, stop me before I strike again!!

Once more, **_Review me, e-mail me if you wanna reach me! When you want to 'PM' me, it's ok!_**

Your friend in writing,

The Samurai Crunchbird®


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